Mi Vida Loca
by atheneblue
Summary: Glenn het smex!  You know you wanted it!  A girl takes a liking to Glenn while he's being held captive by the vatos.  Rated M for chapter 2!


A/N: I think Steven Yeun needs some virtual love, so I wrote him some het PWP. I don't own any of the characters below, except for one... Enjoy!

oooOOOooo

Glenn wanted to laugh, but he found it difficult to be truly amused while tied to a radiator.

The little old lady was babbling at him rapidly, too quickly for him to understand much of it at all, even if he summoned everything he could remember from high school Spanish. He came up with _Como estas?_, _Asi asi_, and _Puedo ir al bano_?, but he doubted that these phrases would bridge the language gap. Furthermore, even if he should try to communicate, the duct tape still covering his mouth might impair his accent.

"_Que haces aqui, abuela?" _

Glenn ducked to the side, tilting his head to see around the old lady. The young woman in the doorway glanced at him, then took hold of her grandmother's elbow, eyebrows lowered in concern, murmuring urgently in Spanish. Her long-lashed eyes flicked nervously back toward Glenn, and she took hold of the waterfall of her wavy dark hair to gather it in front of one shoulder. At last she was able to encourage the old woman into the hallway of the nursing home. "_Si, si. Felipe a mi lo dijo." _She was halfway out the door of the room now, hanging onto the frame on either side of her, the toes of her brightly-colored Vans scuffing the linoeleum. Her dark, superskinny jeans outlined a voluptuous backside. He managed to drag his eyes up to her face before she turned to look at him again, and he blinked at her t-shirt: Domo Kun in blue, wearing black glasses mended on the nosepiece with tape.

"You thirsty?" she asked gruffly, as if she was not sure what tone to adopt with him.

Glenn nodded vigorously.

Her full lips quirked at the energy of his movement. "I'll be right back." She returned a moment later bearing a half-full bottle of water and shut the door behind her. The sunlight shining through the cracks in the boarded-up windows glinted over the gold rings in her ears, four to a lobe, as she crouched next to him. She also had some kind of industrial barbell transfixing the cartilege in the upper part of her left ear. Glenn would have bet any amount that her _abuela_ hated it. She smelled like clean sweat and artificial pineapple. "Um. I'm gonna pull this tape off," she announced apologetically, her fingers small and gentle on his cheek. He winced preemptively. She pressed down lightly on his cheek and then tore away the duct tape. With a concerted effort at machismo, Glenn managed to choke off the noise of pain and protest that rose in his throat.

"Come on," the girl teased. "Do you know how much a good waxing costs?"

"Think I'll stick to shaving," Glenn croaked.

He could tell she was holding back a smile as she unscrewed the plastic cap and raised the bottle to his lips. He gulped eagerly at the stale, warm water, some of the liquid escaping onto his chin and chest. He felt that he would never quench his thirst. After a moment the girl gave him a break and knelt back on her heels. She looked him over openly. "What's your name?" she asked at last.

"Glenn."

"I'm Soledad." She tilted the bottle between his lips again. He watched her eyes as he drank, searching for clues to his future.

"Can we do anything about my hands?" he asked when the water was all gone. He jerked on the twisted duct tape that bound him to the radiator, in case she had failed to notice his predicament.

Soledad laughed, eyes wide. "No way, dude. Felipe would kill me!"

Glenn was mostly sure she was speaking hyperbolically, but his eyes still flicked toward the closed door. "Which one's Felipe?"

"Huge bald _cabron_? Your buddy shot him in the ass with an arrow."

"He's not my buddy," Glenn retorted. He rubbed his face against the sleeve of his shirt in an effort to remove the leftover adhesive. The fabric kept sticking to his skin and bunching up. He gave up and licked his sticky lips.

"Yeah, you don't exactly look like the type he'd share his dip with." She sat down on the linoleum, back against the bed frame, and wrapped her arms around her tucked-up legs. There were about five of those friendship bracelets that girls make out of embroidery floss on her wrist.

"Really? I don't look like an inbred, white trash hick with a gunrack on my truck?" he sighed. "I'm so blown."

Soledad giggled, shaking her head. Her teeth were very even and very white. She was the kind of girl that he could spend hours talking to at a party, wanting desperately to kiss her, even though he knew she would end up making out with a dick who played bass in a band called something like Satan's T.P. She fiddled with her DayGlo shoelaces. "Do you think they're gonna come back?'

Glenn knew who she meant. She meant Rick and Daryl and T-Dog. And the bag of guns. He looked away and remained silent.

"I guess it wouldn't suck if you stayed."

He looked back at her in surprise. She was blushing. Her eyes flicked up to his face, then down to her knees.

oooOOOooo

A/N: The "bassist in a band called something like Satan's T.P." is a reference to Steven Yeun's character in the delightful indie film "My Name Is Jerry" (in which there appears to be a tattoo on the top of his back - anyone know if he's got ink?).

Stay tuned for how much it WON't suck if Glenn stays. ;P


End file.
